"Theres something about Mary ..." Croatia by Lochlainn

Croatia Travel Guide: 16,207 reviews and 34,011 photos

Hello there.

I better explain that title - it's all to do with the flight actually, both there and back. At the time we planned our itinerary in Dublin the option of flying into Split or Dubrovnik seemed just that - a choice between two lovely cities on the Adriatic coast. The guy going with me had already been to Dubrovnik last year so we opted for Split, with a vague plan to island hop our way up the coast to Rijeka.

I should have known that this was going to be a novel experience when I saw the average age of my flying companions in the check-in queue before me at the airport. Actually that's wrong, the average age worked out almost the same as on any flight since the passengers were roughly divided between octogenarians (some prematurely I swear) and youngsters with that scrubbed faced glazed eyed look that can only mean one thing - religious zeal! In opting for Split I had inadvertently booked myself on board with a whole plane load of pilgrims bound for Medjugorje in Bosnia, all travelling in the hope of witnessing rotating suns, moving statues and probably best of all - an apparition of the blessed virgin mother of god herself! My groans however were smothered by the excited chatter of my fellow passengers, as they debated fervently about how many brownie points this pilgrimage would earn them in their application for a heavenly berth after death, and also where exactly Medjugorje was anyway? For a lot of these people this trip was probably their first, and only, excursion to foreign climes (except maybe for those adventurous ones who had already amassed absolution credits in the exotic resorts of Lourdes and Fatima)!

If being surrounded by people who are all too eager to meet their maker on the same flight as oneself is not enough to engender some butterflies in one's belly, matters were made a little worse by the ubiquitous presence of a pilgrim with a video camera, who insisted on filming every nuance of trepidation on the part of his colleagues as we queued (for what seemed like hours) at the check-in. This delay was caused in no small part by the number of travellers who seemed amazed that the nice girl (but wilting rapidly) at the desk was adamant they show her that weird document thingy with their photo inside that the priest in charge of the expedition had insisted they get from the government in Dublin and bring along with them on the trip. Fielding questions like "Can I have a seat facing forward?" and "Is there a toilet on the plane?" must also have been taking its toll on the poor creature.

It was well after midnight when I finally made it to the boarding gates and managed to escape for a while amongst the Ibiza bound yobbos and thugs populating the cupboard that Dublin Airport euphemistically calls the Smoking Area and where I knew my pilgrim co-passengers wouldn't dare follow me. Dangerous in both demeanour and exhaust fumes, at least my erstwhile smoking companions represented a brief experience of normality! But such respite was all too short lived and soon I was back queueing as our flight was called. The presence of a bouncy young guy with guitar strapped across his back in front of me prompted a growled comment from myself to my companion to the effect that the first person who broke into "Kumbaya My Lord" on the plane was heading straight out the emergency exit en route. The guitar was quietly slipped back into its case by the would be Cliff Richard and we boarded.

Thanks to a priest who insisted his charges get some rest prior to their eight hour bus ride to meet the virgin Mary the flight over was quiet enough. At Split however a new complication arose - exemplified best by the conversation between the pilgrim in front of me (a B&B matron if ever I laid eyes on one!) and the passport security guard. He'd never meant it to be a dialogue, all he'd asked was how many countries she'd be visiting on her holiday? The poor thing was only dimly aware that she'd even left her native land and therefore decided the best policy was to answer "Ireland" to every question. He tried a different tack and asked her where she was going after Croatia. I thought at this point I'd better intervene before she gave her stock answer and found herself being put straight back on the plane. When he heard me mention Medjugorje he threw his eyes heavenwards (though I doubt with much religious fervor), shook his head in dismay and waved the rest of us through. The last I saw of them after the baggage collection was an already weary troupe boarding a bus, asking the even wearier priest at the door did the driver want the exact change fare like in Dublin?

If going out was an experience coming back two weeks later was doubly so. They pilgrimize for a week so this was a whole new batch, and worse, they were now imbued with the religious equivalent of amphetamines having lived for seven days on a diet of potato crisps and fundamentalist theology. Add that to their insistence that the girls behind the coffee bar must be thick as they wouldn't accept real money (ie. Irish) and you can see how I was rather bemused at how things were shaping up. Our flight was delayed by a few hours which gave a group next to me in the departure lounge the time and motivation to start an impromptu prayer meeting. This was led by what looked like a boy of fifteen but who apparently was a trainee priest coming back after a three month spell at the spiritual landing site and who insisted they all bow their heads and hold hands, probably obeying a new Vatican directive but looking for all the world like the seance party in the film "Blithe Spirit" (flanked by two rather beautiful - and obviously impressionable - teenage girls, his own grip contained a zeal that may not have been entirely religion motivated itself!).

Their murmuring and quiet singing was actually quite restful and I found myself nodding off next to them, but was shaken out of my stupor when one of the nubile young things suddenly declared loudly that she really MUST tell "Father Peter" her confession, that she had sinned of the flesh and now must unburden her guilt to the lord! "Enough" I thought and turned to the flush faced budding son of christ, informing him that as a fellow full blooded male I'd rather not be faced with such temptations myself quite at the moment and would they please shut the hell up!

On boarding the plane (behind young Father Peter struggling with a four foot bubble wrapped cruxifix) I found myself seated next to a brother and sister from Belfast - he being a mite simple I think and obviously in her care. An hour into the flight - my silent reveries interrupted only by himself resting his head on my shoulder, eyes closed in blissful reminiscence of his travels - and the food was served.

The only other excitement had been when a pilgrim asked us did we want to kiss the rosary beads and sacred medal that were draped around her neck and were a sure guarantee against fear of flying. My reply that we were just heading over the Alps and that the turbulence was going to be quite exciting seemed to diminish the effectiveness of the talisman somewhat - at least its owner muttered something that I'm sure she never learnt from any canonical tract and scurried back to her seat rather green faced! Finding ourselves dining together my new found buddy asked me if this was my first trip to Medjugorje and had I felt the presence of Holy Mary? I bit my tongue and replied that in fact I had skipped that particular excursion and instead headed north to Slovenia. This seemed to confuse him both geographically and theocratically somewhat so he asked what to him must have been a logical rejoinder - "Was I a catholic?". "Good heavens no", I replied - "I'm a devil worshipper actually!". Bad move.

The sister instantly erupted into activity summoning the stewardess down and demanding that they be moved to a holier pew or that I be dropped off immediately, either way they didn't want to sit next to a diabolist all the way back to mother Ireland! Protestations on the stewardess' part that the flight was full and that they must remain seated only prompted them into executing plan B, and the rest of the flight I was soothed by the sound of a dozen or so souls saying repeated decades of the rosary for my salvation and their deliverance from this emissary of Satan in their midst. At least I wasn't being used as a pillow any more!

The landing (accompanied by that nauseating round of applause one finds sometimes on flights - justified only in my opinion if the pilot has glided the plane to a halt after losing both engines, half a wing and while suffering a heart attack, and is therefore an insult to the professionalism of the air crew) was met with relief all round, including from myself, though I'd hazard for different reasons to my fellow travellers! Anyway, none of this has even attempted to describe my impressions of the beautiful land of Croatia - for those I'll refer you to the cities in my Croatia pages.

Last visit to Croatia: Aug 2001
Intro Written Sep 10, 2002
Add to Trip Planner (?)
Report Abuse

Comments (22)

loki5 Jun 13, 2002 at 8:54 AM Report Abuse

great story! travelling does teach u patience!lol
ellys Mar 19, 2002 at 4:51 AM Report Abuse

Great story!
JudyinPA Feb 15, 2002 at 6:39 AM Report Abuse

Glad to hear you had a religious experience
SirRichard Feb 12, 2002 at 9:26 AM Report Abuse

I had a nice reading here, Marc!
CliffClaven Feb 7, 2002 at 12:10 AM Report Abuse

A touch of the Blarney, a hint of Donleavy
nomada Feb 5, 2002 at 6:14 AM Report Abuse

yes, you are a great story teller :)
Hi_Im_Phil Jan 14, 2002 at 2:26 PM Report Abuse

I hear ya...nothin` will push you away from religion faster t
Chryselle Jan 14, 2002 at 9:46 AM Report Abuse

haha..great story!!!!
hayward68 Jan 14, 2002 at 9:43 AM Report Abuse

Hilarious story, and I agree with the applause bit!
Avryle Jan 14, 2002 at 9:31 AM Report Abuse

Love the flight story!